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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22578958">Windchill</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LukasV/pseuds/LukasV'>LukasV</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Cute, Fluff, M/M, Other, THEYREJUSTBEINGCUTEOK, not-porn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 11:41:08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>883</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22578958</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/LukasV/pseuds/LukasV</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur is struggling to sleep after a snap of unseasonable weather, Dutch shows his soft side</p><p>(Just short nonsense fluff!)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Arthur Morgan/Dutch van der Linde</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>116</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Windchill</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hey everyone!</p><p>This is my first time ever writing a fic so PLS be gentle &gt;_&gt;</p><p>I wanted to use this as away to gently dip my toes back into writing after years of not, so here's some gentle soft vandermorgan</p><p>please note! any text in <em> italics </em> is being spoken in Arthur's head.</p><p>sorry in advance for awful formatting! ive never posted anything here before~ find me on tumblr at lukasVDM im new there too~</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> <em> ‘Shit’ </em> </p><p><br/>
</p><p>He gripped his blanket tighter, pulling it up and anchoring it tightly around his shoulders.</p><p><br/>
</p><p>New Hanover was renown for its fairly consistent weather, yet in the past few days a chill had blown down from the mountains and across the plains. It was no Colter of course, but the cold was still unseasonable and less than welcome.</p><p><br/>
</p><p>Arthur lay stiffly in his bunk, his body quaking and every hair on end. He glanced to the moon and judging by its position it couldn't have been much past 2am. The rest of the camp was quiet, many had retreated to their tents in an effort to keep themselves warm. The only stirring came from Mr Swanson, who sat half-conscious against a distant crate, clutching some bottle or other to his chest and mumbling nonsense to nobody in particular.</p><p><br/>
</p><p>A sudden gust of wind swept across the ridge and Arthur braced himself against it. On the other side of camp he could see the faint embers of the fire still glowing and considered for a moment relocating his entire bedroll to it, anything for some reprieve.</p><p><br/>
</p><p>His thoughts were interrupted by a rustle of paper from nearby and a familiar scent, thick and stale cigar smoke.</p><p><br/>
</p><p> <em> ‘Dutch?’ </em> </p><p><br/>
</p><p>His forehead creased in confusion. Morning was well on its way and he was <strong> still </strong> sat reading? </p><p><br/>
</p><p>He knew that he and Molly were having a tough time, but Dutch was hardly the sort to put up with being cast out of his own tent for the night.</p><p><br/>
</p><p>The company was welcome however, the dim glow of his lantern soothing his shivering body somewhat. Another blast of breeze blew across the camp and he turned his back to it, facing the wagons flank of his makeshift tent. </p><p><br/>
</p><p>His eyes were drawn to his photographs, tacked lazily to his living space, most notably his favourite. Hosea, Dutch and himself posed proudly, a snapshot in time of how all of this began. He smiled at the memory of the early days, Hosea and Dutch picking and fussing over him like two mother hens. It was the closest he’d had to love and caring and to this day he still felt forever in their debt for the opportunities they had bestowed upon him. He felt his heart flutter a little in his chest, the memories sparking a welcome warmth in his cheeks.</p><p><br/>
</p><p>The weather seemed to know and immediately punished him with another strong gust of icy air along the cliff face, the breeze seemed to find every gap in his blanket, invading it.</p><p><br/>
</p><p>The lantern light from outside Dutch’s tent began to move and he heard the familiar clink of boots and spurs along the makeshift wooden flooring. It paused as it drew close to arthurs tent, illuminating the space.</p><p><br/>
</p><p> <em> ‘He’s watchin’ me I jus know it. God please don't come over, I aint feelin’ a lecture right now’ </em> </p><p><br/>
</p><p>He loved Dutch, but a 3am talk about plans and faith wasn’t exactly something he wished for.</p><p><br/>
</p><p>He did his best to feign sleep, but the weather and his body betrayed him. His teeth began to clatter loudly and he shivered harder. Gently tugging once more at the thin Blanket, desperately trying to shield more of himself from the chill.</p><p><br/>
</p><p>Somehow, his ruse appeared to have been successful.</p><p><br/>
</p><p>The lantern light receded once more before disappearing entirely with the sound of tent flaps.</p><p><br/>
</p><p>Arthur breathed out and clenched his hands tight against his body, they were ice cold and the flimsy quilt did nothing for them.</p><p><br/>
</p><p> <em> ‘God dammit Grimshaw, ya could have at least grabbed us some thicker bedrolls’ </em> he muttered to himself.</p><p><br/>
</p><p>Then, once again, the lantern returned</p><p><br/>
</p><p>footsteps, dull and soft on the grass. </p><p><br/>
</p><p> <em> ‘Ah shit here we go, knew I hadn’t gotten away with it’ </em> he cursed inwardly, preparing himself for his name to be called.</p><p><br/>
</p><p>Yet, it did not come</p><p><br/>
</p><p>The sound of boots continued right up to his back before coming to a stop. </p><p><br/>
</p><p>Arthur remained silent and held his breath, <em> ‘what the hell is he playin’ at?’ </em> </p><p><br/>
</p><p>He was interrupted by a heavy weight being draped over him, soft and dense and welcome. His body relaxed slowly in appreciation, his teeth becoming still in seconds.</p><p><br/>
</p><p>He felt a hand on his head, warm and gentle, and as it ruffled his hair lovingly he recognised the heavily ringed fingers. Forgetting his pretend act for a moment, he pressed his head back eagerly into the contact like a dog. 
The older man let out hushed chuckle before removing his hand and stepping away. The lantern light began to dim once more before disappearing for good this time.</p><p><br/>
</p><p>Arthur took the opportunity to finally inspect the heavy material draped over him, his face warming once again as he realised what it was.</p><p><br/>
</p><p>Dutch’s coat.</p><p><br/>
</p><p>The coat he had been wearing up in the mountains a few weeks prior.</p><p><br/>
</p><p>The coat that had seemed near constantly dampened by the relentless snow, now dry and warm and laid gently over him.</p><p><br/>
</p><p>Arthur smiled and settled down further into his now-snug bed.</p><p><br/>
</p><p> <em> ‘Ya like to play the tough guy old man, but I know deep down you softer than cotton’ </em> </p><p><br/>
</p><p>his eyelids drooped shut as he fell almost instantly into a dream.</p><p><br/>
</p><p>A dream of Him, Hosea and Dutch.</p>
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